


to hold onto in the dark

by LuckyDiceKirby



Category: Friends at the Table (Podcast)
Genre: M/M, Multi, arrell is the worst and deserves 500 swirlies, hashtag Fraught, some semi mind reading/control shenanigans
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-17
Updated: 2017-05-17
Packaged: 2018-11-01 22:43:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,095
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10931559
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LuckyDiceKirby/pseuds/LuckyDiceKirby
Summary: Alyosha writes letters, Hadrian delivers them, and Arrell broods.





	to hold onto in the dark

_I wonder, Tutor, whether your mind is drawn to me as mine is so often drawn to you. Not like a moth to a flame; that describes a feeling much too gentle. A moth, if it so chose, if its will was strong enough, could simply fly away. The way I think of you, of the days we spent together, is much more like the pull of a magnet. Inescapable and mindless._

_I thought once that perhaps I would one day be repelled by you, that I would not be able to even think of you if I tried. But I am wiser now. I have seen the deep and invisible scars that sorrow can leave._

_I will never forget you, Tutor, so I must content myself with my memories and their sharp edges._

_Do you recall the first night we spent together? I cannot help but worry at the memory like a loose tooth--perhaps I hope that it will fall away entirely. Instead it only bleeds. I like to imagine what it would be like, if I had not leaned in so closely over your books. If the lighting had been brighter, in that small close room where you made your home--I know what low light does to my eyes. If I had not been quite so young and foolish as to believe that any liaison between us could end in anything other than this._

_But all of this was so, and so when you turned to refute my opinion on Vezmuth's translation of the_ Maeliad _, your eyes caught mine and did not move away. I can still smell the scent of your breath; you'd been eating candied lavender that I had brought you. The kind of frivolous gift you used to sneer at, but never once refused._

_You put your hand to my chest. I worried that you meant to push me away, and so I kissed you then, with all the finesse one might expect from a twenty year old who had grown up entirely within the church._

_You grabbed my by the back of my neck and pulled me closer, fingers in my hair and tight against my scalp. You did not push me away. I wonder if you could have, then, or if it was a skill you only developed later._

_I had to go purchase a new copy of the_ Maeliad _the next day. The ink I spilled when you put me on my back on the desk ruined not only the book but also my shirt, and I do not think in all the days I will live that I will ever be as happy as I was then, smiling dazedly at the shopkeeper, ink covering my sleeves, feeling as though light would burst from my skin._

_I did not thank Samothes for you; I know that friendship and love are of our own creation, and not His. But I thanked Him for bending the arc of my path so that our lives crossed, as unlikely as it was for me to meet you._

_Do I truly wish that history had bent in another direction? That we never lay together in that cramped and dusty room, that we did not shout at each other over tea, or share quiet words under His sun?_

_The truth is, Tutor, I do not know my own mind. I saw you again and said nothing. I had no scathing words, no blow, no kiss to give you. But still I turn our past over in my mind. I can do nothing else._

_Is it the worst kind of self-indulgence, to write these words, knowing that you may never read them? That each sheaf of paper I leave at the bottom of my pack will surely never reach your eyes? You spoke against self-indulgence, during our long and meandering talks. It is the reason the manner of our acquaintance never sat right with you. You thought the time we spent together was a waste, because it served no greater purpose, save our own happiness._

_But tell me, Tutor. What is a little self-indulgence, in the face of the calamity we must fight?_

Alyosha looks up as Hadrian closes a hand over his shoulder. He sets down his pen. The Topgallant has emptied out around them, the flickering lamplight dipping low. Hella is deep in conversation with the bartender, their heads bent together, and Throndir and Adaire are engaged in a drinking contest that Throndir is sorely losing, the mage Sunder Havelton looking on. 

"Ah," Alyosha says. "I did not realize it had grown so late."

"I wanted to speak with you before I retire," Hadrian says, sitting down beside Alyosha. His gaze skitters over the still-drying ink. "You write more letters than anyone I have ever met."

Alyosha smiles. He runs his fingers along the edges of the parchment, leaving behind smears of ink. "I do not know if I would call them letters," he says. "I would not even know where to send them. Arrell has not seen fit to give me his direction." And what would he do with them if he were to receive them? Read them? Let them burn? Pay them no mind at all? 

Hadrian's face is doing something complicated. A part of Alyosha wants to reach out and smooth the furrow in his brow. "You and Arrell," he says haltingly. "You were..."

"We were, yes." Alyosha does not have a word for what he and Arrell shared: Arrell scoffed at any that Alyosha offered. And it was too large for words, sometimes. Alyosha would occasionally look at Arrell and find that his mouth had grown clumsy, words seeming to wriggle away from him before his mouth could give them shape. It frustrated and delighted him, even when they were in the middle of an argument, and Arrell took his silence as an admission that he was right.

Hadrian clasps his hands in front of him on the table, staring at them as he speaks. "Was he--I mean--he must have been different back then, right?"

Alyosha shrugs. "Not as different as you might think," he says. "He was never a particularly kind man." 

The corners of Hadrian's mouth tip downwards. "Then why--" he cuts himself off. "I don't mean to question your decisions. I'm just trying to understand."

"Understand me, or understand all that is happening in the world around us?"

"I'm working on realistic goals, I think. At least for tonight."

Alyosha laughs. "Admirable," he says. "Arrell may not be wise, but he is the smartest man I have ever known. He can be impulsive, and he works too hard, and his arrogance outstrips his abilities, even if only just. I have never met another man like him in all my life. He is not a man of faith, but there is something in his eyes--I can't describe it. He believes he can do anything. It is a dangerous belief, but an intoxicating one. I loved him for that."

Hadrian is watching Alyosha's face closely. "I see," he says, and he sounds as if he actually does. "I'm sorry. Was there ever anyone else?" 

"Not in the same way." Alyosha looks down at the paper under his hands. The ink is dry. He folds it into thirds. "That is probably for the best."

"You shouldn't give up hope," Hadrian says. "You're a kind man, Alyosha, surely--"

"Don't pity me, Hadrian. I count myself lucky, to have been so happy for such a long time. And I have never been made for a quiet life," Alyosha says, gently. "It is not my desire to settle down as you have."

"I think you would be a good father." Hadrian's eyes are earnest.

It's the lack of guile, Alyosha thinks, that leads Hadrian to be so disarmingly sweet on occasions like this. "Thank you." Alyosha tucks the letter away in the pocket of his cloak. "What did you wish to speak to me about?"

Hadrian flexes his hands against the table. "I don't know," he admits. "Everything and nothing, I guess. It's...easier to feel settled, around you. Even in--wherever this is. Even though the church is--I don't know what I think anymore. About anything." His eyes, when he looks up, are wet, gleaming in the lamplight. "Do you think I did the right thing?" he asks. "Sending Ben away?"

Alyosha puts his hand over Hadrian's. "I think Ben is as safe now as any of us are."

"I don't know if I can believe that. What you said, about Arrell..."

"Arrell won't let anything happen to your son if it is within his power to prevent it."

"How can you be so sure?"

Alyosha squeezes Hadrian's hand. "Because I have forgiven him many, many things, and he knows that I would never forgive him that."

Hadrian stares down at their hands. "Thank you," he says, stilted, and he pulls his hand back.

Alyosha leans his head on his hand. He can feel his braid beginning to come loose. It's been a very long day. Hadrian is watching him out of the corner of his eye, and pretending that he isn't. "Rosana asked me to take care of you," Alyosha says, picking his way through the words as if walking through a path filled with brambles. Hadrian's eyes are already wide. For such a brave man, he is easily spooked. 

"I don't need to be taken care of." 

Ignoring him, Alyosha reaches out to put a hand to the side of Hadrian's neck. Hadrian jerks his head up and opens his mouth, but says nothing.

"It's only an offer," Alyosha says. "But Rosana worries about you. And I meant what I said at the church earlier."

Hadrian is red up to the tips of his ears. They are of an age, but Hadrian sometimes reminds Alyosha of his younger self. So painfully earnest. "That's just like her," he says, pressing one of his hands to his face and shaking his head. Alyosha smiles. Rosana had shaken her head, too, telling Alyosha what Hadrian was likely to think of her suggestion. They love each other deeply, Hadrian and Rosana, despite all the obstacles in their path, the bitterness that cannot help but lie between them. Alyosha hopes that someday they can remain side by side, along with their son.

Alyosha stands. He cups Hadrian's cheek in his hand, tipping his chin up so that he meets Alyosha's eyes. The traces of a blush still linger on his cheeks. "You're a good man, Hadrian," he says. He leans down to kiss him on the corner of his mouth. 

Hadrian draws in a breath, a sound like he's been punched, and then he tilts his head and parts his lips. Alyosha sweeps his thumb across his cheek, and kisses him properly.

-

It takes a week's journey before Hadrian can track down Arrell in order to retrieve Benjamin. In the end, he finds Arrell in a set of apartments among the ruins of Velas, studying a book with his brow drawn.

"You're back," he says, not looking up. "Finally. I've been waiting."

" _Here_?" Hadrian asks. There is scarcely anyone left in the city, Ordennan or Velasian alike. The mess of it unsettles Hadrian's bones. He had walked past the place where the church once stood on his way here. It had not been a pretty sight.

"Yes, here." Arrell runs his finger along a line in his book, before shutting it with finality and looking up. For a disorienting moment, Hadrian is sure that he sees Fantasmo, spectacles perched on his nose.

It occurs to him that maybe that's where these apartments came from. Hadrian never saw where Fantasmo lived.

"Well? Shall we?" 

Hadrian shakes himself. "I have a letter for you, first. Alyosha sent it with me." No use in waiting to give it to Arrell. Once he has Benjamin, Hadrian wants to get out of here as soon as possible.

And the thought of having Benjamin back--after everything that's happened--and what if Arrell can't get him back after all--

A few minutes of waiting won't do any harm. He pulls the letter from the pocket over his breast and hands it to Arrell.

Arrell's eyes scan the pages quickly. His mouth tightens. "I see," he says, at length. He looks up and stares at Hadrian, eyes sweeping over him. There's a strange quality to his voice. A rawness to its edge. "And how long have you been sleeping with him?"

Hadrian blinks. "Excuse me?" 

Arrell's gaze is piercing. "Alyosha. He speaks very highly of you. I suppose you should be glad."

Alyosha wrote the last words of the letter sitting cross-legged in the bed they shared at an inn in Wharfhurst, his long hair loose around his shoulders. Hadrian ached to watch him, as he aches now, seeing the effect his words have on Arrell. "That doesn't mean we're--"

Arrell stands, shoving his chair back with a loud scrape of wood. "Do not," he says, "mistake me for a fool. What about your wife, then? Didn't Alyosha go to so much trouble to bring her to Rosemerrow? Only to fuck her husband behind her back?" 

"We have an understanding," Hadrian says stiffly. It's none of your business, he thinks, but he can't bear the thought of being _petulant_ in front of Arrell. "If you have a problem with Alyosha's personal life, why don't you take it up with him?"

"What Alyosha does with his time is of no concern to me." 

"You seem pretty concerned about it from where I'm standing."

Arrell looks away. "Alyosha was once my pupil," he says. "It is only right that I should take an interest in his wellbeing."

Hadrian clenches his fists. That's simply too much. "If you were going to take an interest in his wellbeing, maybe you should have started before you abandoned him."

A sudden press of magic knocks Hadrian back against the wall behind him, almost off his feet. It continues to push forward as Arrell steps towards him, a dangerous look in his eyes. "Do not presume to speak about things that you do not understand," he says. "What can you possibly know? How could you ever understand?" Arrell's magic feels as though it is squeezing all the air from Hadrian's lungs, as though it is filling his throat and choking him. "Alyosha made his choice, as I made mine. And _you_ are nothing. You are a charity case he picked up, like a stray kitten that would be better off drowned."

Hadrian can't speak. The magic against his skin burns, strange and familiar: it reminds Hadrian of devotion and prayer. He can hear whispers at the edge of his own thoughts, a deep and crushing sadness. It's like slipping off the edge of a cliff into a cold and endless lake.

Hadrian thinks of Rosana, of Benjamin, of the fact that he _abandoned_ them both, that he's a terrible husband and a worse father and Alyosha, why didn't he bring Alyosha with him? Why didn't he convince Alyosha to come? If he had just explained properly, but no: if Alyosha had just listened, he's always been so stubborn and unyielding in his quiet way, and his _eyes_ \--

Arrell's magic pulls back from him all at once. With nothing to support him, Hadrian falls to his knees. 

"Ah," Arrell says, into the silence. "I misjudge, on occasion, the particular effects of that spell."

"Stay out of my head," Hadrian says. His voice is harsh and rough. 

"Gladly," Arrell says, curt. "There is just one more thing."

Hadrian sits up, reaches for his sword, but Arrell is too fast for him, murmuring words under his breath. He folds himself to his knees before Hadrian, and places a cool and assessing hand to Hadrian's neck, thumb resting against his jaw. 

"Tell me," Arrell says, eyes narrowed. "What does Alyosha think of me?" Echoing in Hadrian's head, the aftereffects of the previous spell or simply Arrell's mind spilling over: _Why did he write those letters? Why did he never send them? Why did I--_

The words feel as though they're being pulled straight from Hadrian's gut, forestalling any chance that he could lie. "He said that he had never met another man like you. You think you can do anything, and he loved you for it." 

The magic fades. Arrell releases his grip. "He loved me, did he," he says, voice cold. "But no longer."

Hadrian stands up, taking a careful step back, hand still on his sword. "Is that a surprise?"

Arell is not looking at Hadrian anymore. "No. He was always telling me so. Foolish boy."

Arrell stands and brushes off his knees. He returns to his desk, though he does not sit. He lays the letters back down on its surface, smoothing out the pages that he crumpled in his fist. His eyes remind Hadrian of a storm brewing.

"Do you want me to take a letter back to him?"

Arrell is suddenly in Hadrian's space again, hand returning to his throat. He leans up, fingers tightening, but when he kisses Hadrian it's soft, like a brush of wind.

Eyes open, Hadrian watches Arrell's face. His grief looks the same as any other man's.

"That's my message," Arrell says. "Carry it safely." He turns and stalks away. "Come. Let us retrieve your son."

Hadrian presses his lips together and follows. 

-

_Tutor,_

_It has been months, now, since we last saw each other on that hill. Our world is ever changing, and yet it remains here._

_I hope that you, too, remain. I promised Hadrian that you would not abandon Benjamin to his fate, for fear of my wrath, but I do not know if even then I believed it. I suppose it was only my foolish faith in you, inescapable even now._

_Sometimes I think that you and Hadrian are not so unalike, though I know you will sneer at the comparison. The difference, to my mind, is that Hadrian questions himself, even when he wishes he would not, while you have never once questioned yourself, even when you wish that you could._

_Perhaps speaking with him will do you good, as it has done for me._

_I hope you are well, Tutor. I will remain in Rosemerrow. If you call for me, I will not hear it. But my door will always be open to you._

_Unless, of course, you have too much work to do._

_Yours, in heedful faith,  
Alyosha_

**Author's Note:**

> The spells Arrell casts, if you're curious:
> 
> "Cage: The target is held in a cage of magical force. Nothing can get in or out of the cage. The cage remains until you cast another spell or dismiss it. While the spell is ongoing, the caged creature can hear your thoughts and you cannot leave sight of the cage."
> 
> and
> 
> "Dominate: Your touch pushes your mind into someone else’s. You gain 1d4 hold. Spend one hold to make the target take one of these actions:
> 
> \- Speak a few words of your choice  
> \- Give you something they hold  
> \- Make a concerted attack on a target of your choice  
> \- Truthfully answer one question  
> If you run out of hold the spell ends. If the target takes damage you lose 1 hold. While the spell is ongoing you cannot cast a spell."
> 
> Was I reading through the wizard moves when I got stuck on this? No, what are you talking about, what could possibly make you think that.
> 
> Anyway find me on tumblr or twitter at luckydicekirby, on Wednesdays we cry about Arrell and Alyosha


End file.
